Ballads of Bravery 7
The stalls are void, the doors are wide,
The tapers burning fair.
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,
The silver vessels sparkle clean,
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,
And solemn chants resound between.
Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres
I find a magic bark;
I leap on board: no helmsman steers:
I float till all is dark.
A gentle sound, an awful light!
Three angels bear the holy Grail:
With folded feet, in stoles of white,
On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!
My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,
And star-like mingles with the stars.
When on my goodly charger borne
Through dreaming towns I go,
The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,
The streets are dumb with snow.
The tempest crackles on the leads,
And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;
But o’er the dark a glory spreads,
And gilds the driving hail.
I leave the plain, I climb the height;
No branchy thicket shelter yields;
But blessed forms in whistling storms
Fly o’er waste fens and windy fields.
[Illustration]
A maiden knight, to me is given
Such hope, I know not fear;
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
That often meet me here.
I muse on joy that will not cease,
Pure spaces clothed in living beams,
Pure lilies of eternal peace,
Whose odors haunt my dreams;
And, stricken by an angel’s hand,
This mortal armor that I wear,
This weight and size, this heart and eyes,
Are touched, are turned to finest air.
The clouds are broken in the sky,
And through the mountain-walls
A rolling organ-harmony
Swells up, and shakes and falls.
Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear:
“O just and faithful knight of God,
Ride on! the prize is near.”
So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;
By bridge and ford, by park and pale,
All armed I ride, whate’er betide,
Until I find the holy Grail.
KING CANUTE AND HIS NOBLES.
Canute was by his nobles taught to fancy
That, by a kind of royal necromancy,
He had the power old Ocean to control.
Down rushed the royal Dane upon the strand,
And issued, like a Solomon, command,--poor soul!
“Go back, ye waves, you blustering rogues,” quoth he;
“Touch not your lord and master, Sea;
For by my power almighty, if you do--”
Then, staring vengeance, out he held a stick,
Vowing to drive old Ocean to Old Nick,
Should he even wet the latchet of his shoe.
The sea retired,--the monarch fierce rushed on,
And looked as if he’d drive him from the land;
But Sea, not caring to be put upon,
Made for a moment a bold stand.
Not only made a stand did Mr. Ocean,
But to his waves he made a motion,
And bid them give the king a hearty trimming.
The order seemed a deal the waves to tickle,
For soon they put his Majesty in pickle,
And set his royalties, like geese, a swimming.
[Illustration]
All hands aloft, with one tremendous roar,
Sound did they make him wish himself on shore;
His head and ears they most handsomely doused,--
Just like a porpoise, with one general shout,
The waves so tumbled the poor king about.
No anabaptist e’er was half so soused.
At length to land he crawled, a half-drowned thing,
Indeed, more like a crab than like a king,
And found his courtiers making rueful faces;
But what said Canute to the lords and gentry,
Who hailed him from the water, on his entry,
All trembling for their lives or places?
“My lords and gentlemen, by your advice,
I’ve had with Mr. Sea a pretty bustle;
My treatment from my foe, not overnice,
Just made a jest for every shrimp and mussel.
“A pretty trick for one of my dominion!
My lords, I thank you for your great opinion.
You’ll tell me, p’r’aps, I’ve only lost one game
And bid me try another,--for the rubber.
Permit me to inform you all, with shame,
That you’re a set of knaves and I’m a lubber.”
[Illustration]
OUTWARD BOUND.
Clink--clink--clink! goes our windlass.
“Ahoy!” “Haul in!” “Let go!”
Yards braced and sails set,
Flags uncurl and flow.
Some eyes that watch from shore are wet,
(How bright their welcome shone!)
While, bending softly to the breeze,
And rushing through the parted seas,
Our gallant ship glides on.
Though one has left a sweetheart,
And one has left a wife,
’Twill never do to mope and fret,
Or curse a sailor’s life.
See, far away they signal yet,--
They dwindle--fade--they’re gone:
For, dashing outwards, bold and brave,
And springing light from wave to wave,
Our merry ship flies on.
Gay spreads the sparkling ocean;
But many a gloomy night
And stormy morrow must be met
Ere next we heave in sight.
The parting look we’ll ne’er forget,
The kiss, the benison,
As round the rolling world we go.
God bless you all! Blow, breezes blow!
Sail on, good ship, sail on!
[Illustration]
THE BRIDES OF VENICE.
It was St. Mary’s eve; and all poured forth,
As to some grand solemnity. The fisher
Came from his islet, bringing o’er the waves
His wife and little one; the husbandman
From the Firm Land, along the Po, the Brenta,
Crowding the common ferry. All arrived;
And in his straw the prisoner turned and listened,
So great the stir in Venice. Old and young
Thronged her three hundred bridges; the grave Turk,
Turbaned, long-vested, and the cozening Jew,
In yellow hat and threadbare gabardine,
Hurrying along. For, as the custom was,
The noblest sons and daughters of the state,
They of patrician birth, the flower of Venice,
Whose names are written in the “Book of Gold,”
Were on that day to solemnize their nuptials.
At noon, a distant murmur through the crowd,
Rising and rolling on, announced their coming;
And never from the first was to be seen
Such splendor or such beauty. Two and two
(The richest tapestry unrolled before them),
First came the brides in all their loveliness;
Each in her veil, and by two bridemaids followed.
Only less lovely, who behind her bore
The precious caskets that within contained
The dowry and the presents. On she moved,
Her eyes cast down, and holding in her hand
A fan, that gently waved, of ostrich feathers.
Her veil, transparent as the gossamer,
Fell from beneath a starry diadem;
And on her dazzling neck a jewel shone,
Ruby or diamond or dark amethyst;
A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath,
Wreathing her gold brocade.
[Illustration]
Before the church,
That venerable pile on the sea-brink,
Another train they met,--no strangers to them,--
Brothers to some, and to the rest still dearer,
Each in his hand bearing his cap and plume,
And, as he walked, with modest dignity
Folding his scarlet mantle, his _tabarro._
They join, they enter in, and up the aisle
Led by the full-voiced choir, in bright procession,
Range round the altar. In his vestments there
The patriarch stands; and while the anthem flows,
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